


Dream Life

by Shuufleur



Series: Trope Bingo Fills [13]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, Spells & Enchantments, Trope Bingo Round 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 23:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14460630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuufleur/pseuds/Shuufleur
Summary: Fill for a DDKM prompt.Frank is trapped in his dream life: he had Maria and the kids.And then, Daredevil ruined all that.





	Dream Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for this [prompt](https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8773.html?thread=17572421#cmt17572421).  
> "Magic/inception/something happens, Frank ends up stuck in his "ideal" world. Matt goes into the dreamscape too to save him, but has difficulties doing it. He can't convince Frank the world is fake or he just can't bring himself to tell him. Maybe Frank, deep down, knows that it's not real but doesn't care. Show me his family, his happiness, what he could've had, what he'd lost. Does Frank recognize Matt when he shows up? Do they fight? (Probably, yeah.) Who wins? (Is there really a winner in this situation?) Does the dreamscape break down around them, trying to trap them in? Does Frank ever wake up at all?"
> 
> This also fills my Trope Bingo squares Truth or Dare/Trapped in a Dream. 
> 
> It's not exactly the prompt but I kinda like how I wrote it. :)

He had this dream ever since he woke up from his coma.

He was home, after Kandahar, lying on their bed. Frank felt the bed dip, lips on his nape, strands of hair on his face, the familiar shampoo smell filling his nostrils. Gentle hands splayed on his back, barely touching the skin exposed to air. Goosebumps rose. He smiled, extending his limbs on the bed, almost relishing in the softness of the sheets against his skin.

“Good morning Sleepyhead.” Maria said, and Frank’s heart stopped for a few seconds. “I guess you needed your sleep.”

He couldn’t believe it. He’d dreamt of that moment a hundred times. Every one of them ended up being a dream, distant memories that ended bloody.

He turned on his back, opened his eyes and watched his wife, smiling to him. Not knowing if it will last, Frank drank avidly Maria’s picture, looking and saving every detail for himself. She smiled, if a little confused.

“Are you OK?”

“Perfect,” he said, and that was true. This has been the best and the worst memories he had. It always was perfect in the dreams, until usually a gunman barged into the room, shooting Maria right between the eyes, splattering blood everywhere: on the sheets, the walls and Frank.

At that point, Frank would wake up, gasping for air, a scream stuck in his throat.

So, he waited for the inevitable bullet to wake him up. He waited, and nothing happened. He frowned, his hand moving slowly toward Maria. She still looked a bit confused but as soon as he grabbed her and kissed her, she just melted against him. Frank marveled at feeling Maria’s lips on his after so long, her tongue playfully moving, teasing, feeling her warm skin under his fingertips, her hair falling on him. He held on and dragged her beneath him. She chuckled and broke away just to look at him. She passed her hands through his cropped hair, searching his eyes for something.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again, biting her bottom lip, worried.  

“Did I ever tell you you have beautiful eyes?” he said instead, not answering her question. Later, he could answer later. Maria’s eyes crinkled, and she evaded his gaze, embarrassed by the compliment.

“You did once or twice.”

“Well, I should probably tell you more.”

They were so full of life, happiness, nothing like in his memories. Nothing like the bloody image seared into his brain. He closed his eyes and buried his head in the crook of her neck. He inhaled and smiled when her subtle soap perfume washed up.

*

“Frank? Frank?”

He blinked and looked at Maria. She had handed him a glass with a drink, beer it looked like when he took it. They were in Central Park, he noticed, sitting down on a blanket. There was a basket with bottles of water and juice, some chips, the rest of a sandwich. She smiled.

“Isn’t this nice?” she asked, and Frank wanted to tell her to leave right the fuck now because soon, soon, it will happen, they will fucking die and he won’t be able to- Wait. He knew what was going to happen. He could stop it. If it ever happened, he could stop it. He thought about it for half a second before returning the smile.

“Sure, it is. Beautiful day. Perfect day.” His eyes looked around to find Lisa and Junior. They were playing not near them with a ball, laughing, stumbling. They knew they couldn’t go too far away from their parents.

Once Frank was reassured they were ok, he looked back at Maria who had a little crease between the eyes, worried, watching Frank.

“Are you ok?”

Frank nodded curtly. He put the glass on the grass, farther from the blanket so that if it fell off it wouldn’t stain the blanket and stood.

“Sorry, I think I forgot my wallet in the car.”

He didn’t wait for her answer and walked briskly to the car parked not so far away. Of course, he didn’t forget his wallet. He just remembered he always kept a gun or two in the car. If anything happens, he would be prepared. This time, he would protect his family.

When returned to his family, the kids were back with their mom and Frank had to stop and drink them in. It felt so foreign to see them together again and yet so real. He hadn’t realized before coming home for good how much he missed them. Maria looked up and smiled, beckoning him to come closer.

Almost dazed, Frank walked to them, gun safely tucked into his waistband.

Later that day, when they went home, he saw someone from the corner of his eyes. Heart hammering down, he turned around calmly as to not alarm Maria and the kids and tried to get a glimpse of that shadow. But as soon as he put his eyes on it, it disappeared in a flurry of motions. Frank furrowed his brow, confused as to what had happened.

“Frank, can you help me?” Maria called, breaking the moment. Frank blinked, quickly forgetting what he saw and hummed in agreement.

*

“You know, Dad, I learned a new song while you were away?” Lisa said proudly.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” She had a proud look on her face as she took the guitar from his hands. She placed the guitar on her lap, sticking out her tongue when she positioned herself. Frank couldn’t stop the smile on his lips. She looked so grown up now. He hadn’t noticed until now, but she was slowly becoming a teenager and wasn’t that a slap in the face. His baby girl had grown up while he was away and now he was surprised to see the results.

_I should have gone home before. I shouldn’t have said yes to Rawlins, to Billy. I should’ve gone home to see my girl grow up._

She played the first notes clumsily at first.

“Wait, wait, I’ll try again. I haven’t played for a week at least!”

Frank chuckled at the outraged tone Lisa had.

“A week, hm? That’s not very serious,” he joked. She threw him a glare, one reminiscent of Maria every bit. That was a look that said: what did I just say? This is just what I said. But the glare evaporated as quickly as it came.

“I know,” she whined, “I want to play more but mom insists that I continue to do sport and I rather be playing guitar.” She pouted, trying to cross her arms over the guitar’s body, but it was too big for her height, so she settled by putting it on the bed. Frank thought for a little while. It was true that for Maria sport was important to keep the kids healthy, and with school, Lisa didn’t have a lot of free time. If she was serious about the guitar, he could probably have Maria relent on the sport thing.

“Alright. Lisa, I have a proposition for you.”

His daughter raised her head, and he huffed, smiling when he saw her starry eyes.

“If you’re really serious about playing the guitar, I could convince your mom to let you off from sport.”

“Really?” She asked, hope barely contained on her face.

“Really.”

She squealed and threw herself into his arms. He was waiting for her and welcomed her with a booming laugh. Called by his laugh, Junior burst into the room.

“Is that a “Let’s all jump on daddy” game?”

“No,” Frank grunted but he knew it wasn’t convincing because of how wide he smiled. Junior laughed, ran, and threw himself on them. Frank tried to protect Lisa from a wandering elbow and they were now all wrestling together, exchanging tickles against tickles in breathless laughs.

When the kids couldn’t fight anymore (“I won,” he croaked, “I won the Tickle war!”), Frank laid on the bed, with both his kids on either side of his body, comforting warmth against him. He passed his hands on their back, their hair, their cheeks. Watched them squirm and pretend they didn’t like it. Looked at their mischievous eyes, promising revenge on their dad. Saw their small pleased smiles and wondered. Wondered if this was real. Really, whatever happened to him, it was finally good. He could stay. He could be their father again, be a husband again.

Why would he want to go, leave all this for the bitter and cynical world he used to live in?

He heard a shuffle at the door and looked up with a bit of urgency. He forced his heartbeat back down when he saw that it was only Maria. She was looking at them, not exactly sad but morose. As if she wasn’t completely satisfied with what she saw, as if she wasn’t completely happy.

He wanted to rise and reassure her, tell her that everything was going to be all right, that he wasn’t leaving her, and they weren’t leaving _him_. No anymore, not if he had any say in it. When she saw that he was also looking at her, she smiled and sent him a kiss. He closed his eyes, pretending to receive it and when he opened back his eyes, she was gone.

His stomach dropped, his arms tightened around his kids, and for a moment, he prayed, prayed to a God he renounced months ago, even years ago, if he could just keep that, keep the peace, he would never become the Punisher. He’d just be Frank Castle, a husband and a father, an ex-marine, and a patriot.

As if someone heard his prayer, he heard Maria started to sing that stupid song he played the first time she came to talk to him.

Frank pressed his lips together and buried his nose in Frankie’s hair, closing his eyes.

He was home, wasn’t he?

*

“Hey brother.”

Frank froze, heart hammering down his chest at hearing this voice. He turned around, expecting a scarred face beyond recognition. He expected the monster that he really was, instead Billy was smiling up to him. One of his smiles, half-smug, half genuinely happy. The kind of smiles he usually reserved to family. The kind of smiles he used to direct to the Castle family.

Frank looked at his old friend, his brother in arm’s handsome face, and wondered. Wondered when he started to think that Frank was more a liability, a bother than a friend. Wondered when Billy’s loyalty switched from his family to his dick of a commanding officer. Billy might not have pulled the trigger himself, but he let it happen. He let his family, his innocent family die as a cover up. He tried to kill Frank thinking he’d babble on them, on what they did all this year.

Frank unconsciously curled up his lips in disgust. He didn’t know if it was against himself ( _h_ e _should’ve seen it, he should’ve_ ) or against Billy.

“You ok, Frank?” Billy asked, worry in his eyes.

 _Are you sincere?_ he wanted to ask. _Are you just playing me? Are you trying to make me believe you’re still my friend until you shoot me?_

Instead, he relaxed himself, tried for a smile, and said: “Sure. Just tired. Kids are exhausting.”

Billy laughed, nodding at that statement, as if he could understand. He always did that, did he. Faking. Pretending he was someone else. Never showing his true self. Frank wondered if he ever knew who Billy was.

“Who would have thought that having a family was more exhausting than shooting up bad guys in the desert.”

Billy laughed again, clapped Frank back in a friendly manner and left to talk to the other guys from their old units.

_The ones still alive._

His eyes fell on Curtis and couldn’t help a smile appearing on his lips. Somehow, he never thought Curtis would have been on his side from the beginning to the end. He had thought that as soon as things went downhill, he’d bail. That was poor judgement on Frank’s part. He took two beer bottles and went to see him.

“Hey,” he said, quietly. The other man looked at him and took the beer gratefully.

“Thanks man.”

They cheered silently, clinking their bottle together.

“How’s life back home?” Curtis asked, and Frank laughed throatily.

“Are you trying to get me to your therapy sessions?”

Curtis’s eyes glinted with amusement.

“Maybe. I’m sure you need to talk too, sometimes.”

Frank shrugged.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

He was fine. Better than ever. He was where he wanted to be all along; with his wife, his kids, and his closest friends. His eyes absentmindedly found Billy, who probably felt his eyes on him and turned around. He raised his beer, half laughing to what the guy beside him was saying. He didn’t know him, Frank mused when he looked at him, eyes wandering from head to toe. He was wearing a suit, red glasses, had a three days stubble. In one hand, he had his drink, and the other… the other was holding a cane.

Almost surprised despite himself, Frank’s eyes snapped back to the man’s face, wondering if he knew him.

“Who is that?” he asked Curtis absentmindedly.

“Who?”

“That guy? With the glasses and the cane,” he replied.

Curtis looked out, squinted at the man he described. He shrugged and turned back to Frank.

“I don’t know. Why?”

Frank shook his head.

“He seems familiar somehow.”

Curtis said something, but Frank wasn’t listening anymore. He kept looking at the man in the suit. The man must have felt something because turned his head to Frank.  A shiver passed through Frank and he averted his eyes.

*

“Guys!” the site manager called to gather around the guys working on the site. “This is Frank Castle, he’s gonna work on Fredricks team. Back to work!”

The manager didn’t even indicate who that Fredricks was, he just left Frank with all the other guys who were measuring him. Probably trying to guess if he’s going to be a troublemaker. Frank raised his eyebrows to the guys, until one of the men detached himself from the flock.

“Come on then,” he said, jutting his chin out, trying to look commanding. Frank smirked. The guy was trying to play tough, but Frank had seen scarier guys.

“Hey!” Fredricks barked, snapping his fingers a few times. “Time to wake up. You’re not here to do nothing.”

Frank wanted to take the hammer he had in his hand and bash his head with it. Instead, he stayed silent, nodded and listened to the shit the guy told him. In the first few minutes Frank knew what kind of man he was: arrogant, lazy, and dumb. The kind of dumb that killed people.

And there was this kid, no more than 20 probably. He looked too young and acted tough. Frank knew he was going to be eaten alive by Fredricks. He wasn’t wrong. Fredricks and his pals started to pick on him, but Frank had to give credit to the kid, he didn’t say anything. The thing was, it irked Frank. Couldn’t he grow a backbone? You don’t let people walk all over you. It just invites more idiots to do the same.

In the end though, he didn’t do anything for the kid, not until one night he disappeared, and Fredricks and his pals looked way too smug the day after. Frank had an unpleasant feeling rolling in his stomach. He probably could have stopped whatever happened, he thought, but he had come home earlier that day, because Junior got one of his tooth removed and he wanted daddy to be there. Frank couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to.

In the end, his job was mindless: he did get to use his hammer but not on Fredricks heads, unfortunately.

For a while, it was like that:

Frank worked from 7 to 4, smashing rocks, (“Come one Castle, are you mute now?”) went home to his kids, played with them (“Daddy, can you watch me play?”), looked at their homework, kissed Maria home, made love to her. Saw Curtis and Billy. Lived.

He lived.

*

It didn’t continue. Of course, it didn’t. Because while Frank was getting deeper, and deeper in this dream, he knew something was wrong. This couldn’t be his life. His wife was dead, his kids were killed, and Billy was a traitor. But he tried to forget. He did forget. Until one night, when he put the trash outside, he saw a guy in a red costume and it tugged at something. A memory he didn’t want to remember.

Ignoring all the warning bells in his mind, Frank walked to the other man. Frank could only make out so much in the dark. Especially since the guy seemed to avoid all light. Frank looked at him, studied him from head to toes: this only visible part in all this costume was the lower part of his face.

“Who are you?”

The guy in red hesitated.

“A friend.”

His teeth glinted, his horns seemed to grow bigger.

Frank scoffed.

“I’d remember if I had any friend in that ridiculous get up of yours.”

The other man smirked for half a beat as if he expected Frank to say that.

“There’s something I need you to do,” The Devil said.

Frank raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really. What is that?”

“Snap out of it.” Red ordered.

Frank raised his eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Red.”

For a beat, the other man seemed surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting Frank to tell his name, and at that point he wasn’t sure himself why he said it.

“Frank, this isn’t real. You need to come back.”

“Real?” he scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

But he knew, deep inside of him. He knew it wasn’t real. Knew from the beginning, because he always had the two sets of memories, what he considered his past, his _other life_ and his present, his future. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to abandon Maria and the kids. He couldn’t do that to them. He couldn’t do that to himself.

“Alright. Let’s play a game,” Red announced, and Frank couldn’t stop the groan from passing through his lips.

“Frank, truth or dare?”

Frank looked at him incredulous. What the fuck was he on?

“What the fuck?”

“It’s a simple question. Truth or dare?”

Frank stayed silent to think. Why would he ask him that?

“For you or for me?”

“For you. You choose truth, I ask you whatever I want to know. You choose dare, I tell you what to do.” Red said, walking up to him.

Truth: he could say whatever he wanted to make Red go away.

Dare: Red could fuck him up good.

He could never resist a dare.

“Dare.”

Red smiled then, a little of laughter at the back of his throat. He had been expecting that.

“I dare you…” he started, “to kill me.”

“I’m sorry?” Frank asked, stunned, surprised, out of his depth.

“You heard me. Kill me Frank.”

“I can’t… won’t kill you.”

“But you will,” the Devil said in a low voice, and in Frank’s right hand there was something heavy. He looked down and saw a pistol in his hand, a Kimber Warrior. He looked back at Red, shaking his head.

“I’m not gonna shoot you.”

Red was now in front him, silent, his mask’s eyes staring right at Frank.

_red red red like blood_

Suddenly, Red grabbed his hand with the pistol and aimed it to his chest, just over his heart. Frank widened his eyes and tried to get his hand back.

“Come on, Frank, I know you wanted to kill me at one point. Maybe you still even do now.” he said, almost growling, and softer, hesitant “Maybe you will once again when this is all over.”

Frank shook his head.

“You can’t make me do that.”

Red chuckled.

“I can.”

The pistol fired, Frank’s finger releasing the trigger. He watched with horror as the bullet plunged into Red’s chest, making him grunt and releasing his hand. He took a step back, staggering, a hand over his heart.

“No, no, no, no, what did you do Red?” Frank asked softly, urgently.

Red smiled, weak, but still standing.

“I’m saving you Frank.”

“No, no, no, no.”

Red pressed his lips together. He was so pale. Blood began to seep out of his mouth.

Red started to fall. Frank jumped forward to keep him from exploding his brain on the pavement. As soon as his fingers brushed against the gloved hand, Frank

gasped and sat. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, what he was doing, what happened. The last few remnants of the dream filtering out, seeping from every pore of his skin. He tried to grasp at them, to keep them with him but he couldn’t grab them. They left him angry and desperate and hurt.

“Frank?”

He turned to the voice and lashed out. He made a fist and punched Daredevil in the face. The other vigilante hardly had time to raise his hands in defense.

“Why?” Frank bellowed, “Why?” Every word was punctuated with a punch, a kick, a swipe. Daredevil frustratingly evaded everything he threw at him. He even tried to reason with him.

“It wasn’t real, Frank. You would’ve died!”

“And that’s such a bad thing?” Frank replied vehemently, “You’re always on my trail, trying to stop me from killing scum, you’re always threatening me with arrest, I thought you’d be glad to be gotten rid of the big bad Punisher!”

He’d stopped hitting Daredevil at that point, chest heaving with exhaustion both mentally and physically. The other man kept silent, and it irritated him.

“You know what? I think you’re the one who killed me. I had the best time of my life since that day and you tore me away from it. You just make everything worse, Red.”

“I don’t want you to die Frank, I want to help you-”

“Stop trying to fix me!” Frank shouted back, cutting Daredevil off. “I’m not yours to fix. I’m not your responsibility.”

Red visibly swallowed and was going to say something but Frank shook his head. For once, the Devil in red listened and shut up.

“Leave me alone, Red. I had the-”

He stopped. He wanted to tell him, he wanted him to know what he did.

_Perfect dream_

“Leave me alone,” he repeated, calmer.

Today was the day Daredevil actually listened to what he was saying. He backed away slowly, facing him and hands raised in a placating gesture as if Frank could snap at any moment. He snorted and made a shooing gesture to Red. The other man didn’t hide his slight flinch as if he had been expecting Frank to shoot him. Not that it was so far off the truth. Finally, once the Devil was far away, he turned around to somersault his way out.

As soon as he was out of sight, Frank closed his eyes, tears prickling behind his eyes. This spell… the reality it showed felt so real, so tangible. He touched Maria, his kids. He could feel their skin, hear their voices - their laughter.

Killing all the bastards that participated in the shootout had helped him get a little peace of mind. Reliving the same moments without the violence, without all the heartache, it made him believe he could be possible. He could get his family back.

Then, Daredevil had to get in the way and ruin this. Without knowing it, he delivered a blow to Frank. He just didn’t know if it was deadly or not.


End file.
